


Had, Not Have

by mendeshoney



Category: Shawn Mendes (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 20:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21214526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mendeshoney/pseuds/mendeshoney
Summary: This is where it ends.





	Had, Not Have

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah this is angsty cause that’s what I do and really, what else do you expect from me? This is a sort of spin on “Because I Had You,” and it’s also super short because this was more of a word vomit than anything else. Love it, hate it, idc, this is what ya got

The slam of the door behind you echoes throughout the house, and you make a point to stomp upstairs, your pounding feet matching the loud pounding of your heart against your rib cage. The loud sounds are satisfying, even if the cause of your anger isn’t here.

Three years. Three years together, and this is how it ends.

Your chest is heaving with every angry breath, and you’re trying to keep your cool enough not to cry, not to explode with emotion, but it’s no fucking use. You can feel your blood boiling, your skin getting hot, your hands starting to shake and you want to drive them through the wall, want to take your fist through this entire house - you don’t think you’ve ever been so angry in your life.

You rip open the closet door, pulling out your large suitcase from the bottom and ripping it open, tossing it onto the bed before grabbing clothes from the closet, the drawers, whatever you can get your hands on before you move into the bathroom, grabbing your toiletries, your beauty bag, throwing it into your luggage while trying to grab your other valuables.

The front door opens and slams, “Baby?!” being called throughout the house.

You choose to ignore it, zipping up your suitcase and hauling it onto the floor, and you’re about to wheel it out of the room when the source of your anger surfaces in the doorway. He looks at you, then at your suitcase, and frowns, pointing at it when he asks “What are you doing?”

“What does it _look_ like I’m doing, Shawn?” You spit. “I’m leaving.”

Shawn takes one step forward, shaking his head frantically. “You can’t leave.” He pleads.

“Who says I can’t?” You demand. “I’m done. This argument is done and we’re fucking done.”

He takes another step in front of you, and he goes to place his hands on your arms, but when you wince away, he drops them, unsure of what to do with himself when he says. “Please baby, just let me explain, okay? I didn’t-”

“You didn’t _what_, Shawn? You didn’t mean to tell me to leave? Tell me if I didn’t like the way this was going then I should walk? Cause you’re right. I don’t like where this was going and I don’t want to be with you. All you’ve been doing is nitpicking at me for the last week, telling me what I do to piss you off, saying the dumbest shit. I told you that I was going out with my sister as a ‘for your information’ type thing and you literally told me ‘great, I’ll tell my other girlfriend that.’ Who says shit like that? That’s not funny, Shawn!”

You take a deep breath, barreling on. “And then tonight, I find out you’ve been texting Nicole behind my back, and what’s worse, is that every time we’ve had an argument in the last month, you not only texted her about it, but you talked shit about me to her, and then you even met up with her in the middle of then night to ‘go for a drive and talk.’ Are you fucking kidding me? And then you have the fucking _nerve_ to tell me to chill out? To tell me to relax when everyone around us seems to know more about _my_ relationship than I do? And then she tells me that you _kissed_ and you think there’s something to explain? What’s there to explain, Shawn? You kissed another woman!”

At the raised tone of your voice, Shawn steps back. There are tears in his eyes, a weak explanation on his tongue but you don’t care, you don’t want to hear it. “You know I don’t like Nicole. You _know_ that I don’t like her because she doesn’t respect relationships, and she especially doesn’t respect _our_ relationship. And clearly, neither do _you_.” You grab the handle of your luggage, and shove past him. “So please, Shawn. Spare me your sorry ass apology because I do _not_ want to hear it. I hope that you’re happy with the next girl, and I honestly hope you don’t treat her the same way you fucking treated me.”

* * *

Shawn awakes with a start, the echoing sound of a slamming door still in his ears. He’s dripping in sweat and his chest is heaving. He feels like he can’t fucking breathe, and there’s tears pricking at the corner of his eyes when he sits up, tries to shake away the nightmare.

No, not the nightmare, the memory.

He looks to his left, checking to make sure he didn’t disturb the body laying next to him, and sighs in relief when he sees that she’s undisturbed, and he takes it upon himself to quietly pad downstairs to the kitchen.

It’s been exactly a year since you walked out, and he still feels like it happened five minutes ago.

The furniture of his house is different - rearranged to be that way, different than the way it was when he was with you so that he would have an easier time moving on, an easier time forgetting. It was sort of working, but every now and again he’d bump into a chair while navigating his home half asleep, almost as if you were still there.

He opens his freezer and takes a long swig from the tequila bottle, not even wincing at the burn coats his throat and goes down. Shawn takes a seat at the table, downing another swig, trying to cloud his mind and push the memory out.

Nothing seemed to work.

He’s almost at the bottom of the bottle when he hears soft footsteps entering the kitchen, his new girlfriend smiling sweetly at him until she notices the liquor, and she frowns, concern etched on her features.

“Another nightmare, Shawn?”

He nods, unable to say anything else. She sighs, sauntering over and sitting in his lap. He adjusts to fit her, mentally noting she doesn’t fit with ease the way you used to. “I’m okay.” He says meekly.

She shakes her head. “No, you’re not. Do you want to talk about it?”

Again, Shawn shakes his head. Instead, he offers “let’s go to the lake tomorrow, yeah? Our little spot, by the trees.”

She smiles, nodding, and Shawn feels like he’s only momentarily relieved the situation.

It’s not really “their” spot, it’s more your spot. Yours because you were the one who showed it to him and now it was the only place he went where he felt close to you, where he felt like he still had the part of your relationship that was sacred before he fucked it all up. He didn’t mean to take his new girlfriend there, but they were having a conversation about commitment and while he was driving and he just…ended up there somehow.

It’s not what she deserves, this new girl. She’s far too kind, too sweet, has only ever given Shawn love and respect and patience and really, she’s the perfect girl.

Just not for him.

Because she’s not _you._


End file.
